


𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣

by orphan_account



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Anyways, F/F, F/M, Gen, Slow Burn, but for the purpose of the plot, he's gonna be bisexual im sorry, i know angel is gay, lotss of hadestown references, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: [𝙝𝙖𝙯𝙗𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙡/𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙫𝙖 𝙗𝙤𝙨𝙨]❝𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯...❞unfortunately, you had become good friends with the daughter of your old friend... and a favour or two in her prosperity was in order.[also a hadestown crossover]
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Blitzo (Helluva Boss)/Reader, Charlie Magne/Vaggie, Husk (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Niffty (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Sir Pentious/Reader (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 121





	1. 1 - I WANT TO FLY DOWN AND FEED AT HIS HAND

**Author's Note:**

> suicide tw//there's not much talk of it but it IS still there, so be safe! and happy! and healthy!

**_1 -_ 𝙄 𝙒𝘼𝙉𝙏 𝙏𝙊 𝙁𝙇𝙔 𝘿𝙊𝙒𝙉 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙁𝙀𝙀𝘿 𝘼𝙏 𝙃𝙄𝙎 𝙃𝘼𝙉𝘿**

**▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀**

**33 PEOPLE HAVE DIED TRYING TO SAVE [Y/N] [L/N].** She knew each and every one of them.

A few were the people she had been the closest to - best friends and family, people she had laughed with and lived with, people she loved. Some were just distant friends and acquaintances, silhouettes of people she had known all her life and yet never really talked to. Their deaths were the worst.

The families of the people she had loved were understanding. At the funerals upon funerals they would look at the girl with sympathy, compassionate, and it soothed [Y/N] to know that they truly did realize that [Y/N] had never meant for any of this to happen. The families of the people she hardly knew were so, _so_ much worse.

There were few exceptions; most would avoid her like the plague. Don't look at her, you'll catch fire.

When the did meet eyes, however, she saw nothing but resentment. And with that, a plume of guilt would bubble up and send her careening into a rush of panic - and all she could do was suck it up. Water off a duck's back.

The first one to go was the girl's best friend. A week later, a classmate that smiled at her every now and then. Another, a boy that she used to get butterflies and warm cheeks for from years ago. A day later her mother went. If she had laid her eyes on you, you were set on fire, you were sentenced from the beginning. Already dead. Another funeral to attend. Another month of black.

The thirty-third, a year of black. A year of funeral bells stuck in her dreams. An executioner's blade hung over her head from the very beginning, only for someone else to take her place. 

Speeches were not given anymore. This town had had too many of them. The service lasted twenty minutes, [Y/N] stayed for a few hours.

That night, she dreamed of steel and of the colour grey. She dreamed of never again hearing those funeral bells. She dreamed of the executioner's blade falling onto her neck... and decided, when she woke up, that her last day on Earth would be spent a vigil for the lives she had taken. Not a syllable from her mouth. I'm sorry Mom. I'm sorry Oliver. I'm sorry... what was his name?

And she did. No consonants, no vowels. She spent the day looking out from her window and writing a few pages of explanation. She fasted, she doesn't need food, doesn't _deserve_ it now that all this has happened. She wore all black like most days, grieving. She wished it could have been different.

At the end of the last hour she planned to keep her eyes open, a shadow appeared to her.

_"You want to go that bad, huh?"_

The words were like smoke from a fire. They swirled around the girl's head, a frenzy of desperation, but from her, not the voice's owner. The voice was confident and almost narcissistic as it rang out, and from the darkness, a face to match the voice appeared. Light blonde hair, a tinge of sweet strawberry lying in the shades. His face is a grinning visage, calculating, matching the voice perfectly. His eyes were that of a fox; sly, wrinkled at the corners, laughing. He was paler than any man [Y/N] had ever seen.

"All I need you to do," he whispers.

[Y/N] feels her eyes filling up and her breath becoming short.

"Is say one _little_ word, little canary."

She can't breath. Her knees collapse without warning, and ever so patient, the man kneels down softly to lift the girl's head up. His smile is soft as well, almost motherly. But even in the back of her head she knows it's not what he's really feeling.

"Say _yes_ ," he hisses like a snake. Yes, yes, yes, yes...

The girl gasps for air as she tries to say it aloud, breathe, breathe, suddenly she’s choking, the next tears are falling and stutters spurt out her mouth like a fountain. Say it. Say it, and you will be free - a hand on her shoulder sends a calm wave of cool fire through her. She can breathe again.

He grins. “I can give you _anything you want…”_

Cool fire.

“For a price,” he reminds, but the words are still just as _sweet_ \- “anything, for a small price…” 

Saccharine.

“Come with me,” he beckons, “I could use a canary.”

Sweet serenades of birdsong beg her to comply, laments of lovers passed plead for the girl to think of _the future,_ she’s got sunshine up on the shelf and she could use it down there to survive and be happier than she was up here. When was the last time she saw the sky?

A hand of flame lifts her chin to force her into the eye of the beholder, you want stars? There’s hundreds down there.

A smile of slander tempts her into oblivion, you want cool springs… we’ve got a dozen down there.

[Y/N] [L/N] died in the house she grew up in, cold, and _alone._


	2. 2 - ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF

**2 - 𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙒 𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙍𝙊𝘿𝙐𝘾𝙀 𝙈𝙔𝙎𝙀𝙇𝙁  
▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀**

_! ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵃ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ⁱⁿˢᵉʳᵗ, ᵖᵉʳˢᵉᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ ⁱˢ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ'ˢ ᵃˡⁱᵃˢ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉˡˡ !_   
  


_"Shhh!"_ The drunken man whispers, giving a light slap to his friend next to him. "I wanna hear this."

Husk sends a small glance up to the TV in the gas-lit bar, rolls his eyes, and slips back to his bourbon. He downs another glass to try and drown out the sounds.

"What is it?" The other guy whispers, and Husk notes the gravelly tone in his voice without really caring what his voice sounds like or not - go back to your alcohol, 'nother one down the hatch. He'll feel this in the morning but he's built up a resistance to it. Part of the routine. It'll only be a migraine and a few trips to the washroom to empty his stomach of whatever he ate.

"You don't know?" The guy laughs, almost a bewildered, awe-stricken sound: just then the TV rings out with another news segment, the picture of a regal-looking woman displaying on the pixels. She's got eyes of pure black and her skin has no imperfections - milk and honey, waves rolling up to kiss the shore, and he _can't believe_ he's really thinking this. Another shot, please and thank you.

Katie Killjoy's shrill voice rings out from the quiet speaker as people begin to gather around. The patrons in the bar begin to whisper, did you see her? Where's she going? Where has she been? Their mutters, one united voice, begin to drown out the TV. Such luck, for picking such a crowded bar tonight. Good going, Husk. It's only when he hears her name among the crowd that he recognizes just who it had been there on the TV.

On the screen, the headline reads _"Persephone spotted near bar"._

His spirits lift. Both ways. Another quick shot sends his (and truly, he _cannot_ believe he's feeling this way) heart soaring, maybe he'll get a chance to see the blue sky again...

"Who's this Persephone chick? I thought that Lilith girl was the boss's wife!" The gravel-voiced man yells over the murmurs. His friend scoffs at the incompetence - Husk almost does too, but he doesn't really feel like getting into a bar fight today.

"She is!" The other guy shouts back. "But they call this one Persephone because she's more of a queen here, I guess. I mean, who _really_ gives a shit about the royals? Nah, nobody, but _Persephone_ , she brings something to the table... Nobody knows 'er real name, so they gave her that one. _Fitting, I think._

She owns most corporations 'round here. King of the hill. Turf wars don't matter as much as people think they do because either way she'll come knocking at your door and end up owning the property anyway, even if you do end up just below her in ranking."

"So why the fuck is everyone going crazy for?"

"She can go back to earth whenever she likes," a gruff chuckle rings out from the guy. "Lets people see their gang every now and then. Sometimes gives them an hour in Italy or wherever they wanna go. It's nothing certain but if she's at a bar, then-"

The door clicks open, and on the perpetrator's face, a wicked grin. Dark as molasses, her eyes shine: waves rolling up to kiss the shore, milk and honey. Shiny [h/c] and [oh/c] locks frame a face that the TV shows all too well.

" _Ahhhh_ ," she exclaims, like seeing an old friend after a long time. "Brothers, heard y'all talking about me! Wasn't that quite an opportune entrance?"

The crowd erupts again, _"Right, right, straight line!"_ Persephone smiles drunkenly and as her patrons whistle and cheer, she catches Husk's eye - and it's like she's saying _I see you. I know how you feel. Raise another glass, brother._

And suddenly he understands why the cheers and whistles ring out. Suddenly he's glad he chose this crowded bar, regardless of the headache that beats like a drum in his head.

 **▀** **▀** **▀**

The businesswoman raises a glass to her lips, and as she feels the cool surface, a small bout of laughter bubbles up from her lips at her business partner's expression. He's shaking in his boots - although the woman guesses that anyone would be, if they were pulled from whatever they were doing before to end up _here,_ the room of Persephone, the one they talk about in all those whispers in the bar.

 _"P-Persephone,"_ he stutters, then stumbles to greet the woman. _"Uh... hi?"_

"Blitzo!" She says, like greeting someone you don't really want to see - fake fondness, at it's very core. Blitzo blanches, tries to correct her, ( _the O is silent!)_ but it's no use, she's started talking again.

"I understand that you've gained some... _power_ , recently." She chuckles, pauses for a bit - and Blitzo takes this time to look around at her room. It's a chalky white with undertones of gold and blue, the window has the view of a nice cliff and you can hear the waves crashing against it... Iceland, maybe? It's a pretty sight... he's almost hypnotized by it but is snapped right out when she makes him jump.

"Oh!" She exclaims, causing said jump, suddenly remembering something. "How rude of me. Pomegranate?"

Blitzo stares in awe. Not the good kind. He squeaks an _'I'm okay,'_ and that's sorta just the end of it. Persephone shrugs, putting them back. It's back to scary talks from her again. Maybe he should have said yes.

Taking another sip of her wine, the woman clears her throat. "Okay, down to business. You've gained some power and I want to put a few new rules in your contract."

"Wh-whatever you want, sir-! I mean-"

She chuckles. _"Sir,_ that's new. I like it."

"S-sir then?"

"No." She goes back to being straight-faced. So _seasonal!_ "Anyways," she snaps her fingers, and a paper between them appears. "You have access to the human world, yes?"

She doesn't wait for a reply. _"Well_ , while I _do_ respect a fellow businessman, that is kind of my schtick. So, you are never to allow customers to even get _one look_ at the crack in the wall, or, effectively, I'll sink your business. Capiche?"

And what can Blitzo do but agree? He takes the pen with a shaky hand, a nervous smile on his face, and...

... thinks briefly that it would be good to actually _read_ the contract, before he signs it. He might be a bit of an idiot, but he _is_ a good boss! A... _helluva boss_ , if you will.

He sets down the pen uncertainly, and looks back up to Persephone to see if he's offended her, but she sits patiently with a small smile on her face. Her eyes never leave his form. He feels his face warm at the unnerved attention and goes back to reading the contract. He jumps at the sound of her picking up her wine glass and taking another sip.

He's almost afraid to bring it up, but Persephone speaks as if she had just read his mind. "If you have any questions or concerns," she pauses for another sip. "Be sure to let me know."

"Oh, uhm. Well it says here you're the top dog if I sign this..."

Her smile grows. "Yes. While I understand it may be... a bit _suffocating_ , giving up your freedom like that... it isn't what it sounds like at all. Since I'll be busy with other exploits you will remain with most of the freedom. All that I care about is that what I say goes, and if we're being honest, I don't speak much to begin with. Essentially, this is just a bit more funding to work with on your part - you need a loan, just ring me up."

Hook, line, and sinker. He can't reach for the pen faster. Persephone watches him, amused.

"So we have a deal, then?" She hums, which in turn makes Blitzo drop the pen _AGAIN._ He feels his face burn at the embarrassment.

"Uh, yeah...!" He squeaks, smiling sheepishly. He did not want to mess this up now, _especially_ with this deal! 

"Great," she raises her hand, and with a snap, a bouquet of light pink, dark pink, and lavender-coloured roses sprout from her hand; she spins them around so that the stems are facing Blitzo like handing him a knife, a warm smile still on her face. "A token of my appreciation, dear business partner."

_Smooth._

"To many more years of prosperity," she clinks her glass against one that he hadn't even realized was there before, and as soon as he takes the flowers in his hand, he's transported back to the office.

In her own office, Persephone's smile stays on her face as she checks off _~~I.M.P.~~ _on her list, a blue line straight through the middle. She snaps, and sends the next one in.

 **▀** **▀** **▀**

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way they watch you, whisper when you appear. You're smarter than that, little canary. They think you’re going to _save_ them.” Lucifer looks down on the demons through a portal Persephone has opened, at his request, and a grin plays on his lips at the thought. "No wonder you get along with my daughter so well. I can only hope that she won't turn out a failure with your guidance, if she is not doomed already." He takes a deep breath, then turns look at Persephone. "Percy, lemme guess. You want to help her with that hotel."

"Yes," Persephone bites back a sharp-witted reply that stores itself in the back of her throat, raring to go. Save it for another time. She files it in the back of her mind with the others, just waiting to destroy Lucifer so he'll never get smart with the girl again. She closes the portal.

"A waste of time, if you ask me," he teases, but the girl can tell he's serious with his train of thought. "You're better off spending your time in bars and drinking wine with that wife of mine."

"I haven't visited Lilith for a while," thinks Persephone. "I'll be sure to do that, yes," and files it in the back of her mind, with the other things she needs to do.

"I swear," Lucifer sighs, "you and Charlotte are like two birds of a feather."

"Charlie," thinks Persephone angrily. She files it in the back with the rest of the things that she wants to yell at Lucifer for.

"Like a little daughter of my own," Lucifer reaches to pinch Persephone's cheeks mockingly, and says, in baby-voice, "if only you had not picked that name. Eurydice would have fit you much better."

"I didn't," she corrects. "I _distinctly_ recall that it was _your_ people that picked it for me. I simply went with it. And Eurydice would _not_ have fit me better, still need to find my Orpheus."

"Ah," Lucifer yawns. "Guess that's true. Hm, well, I don't know if you ever will, who'd wanna date a stuck-up CEO of a million different corporations, she'd just nag you all day then go off to work." He snickers, then gives a lazy wave. "It's time for me to go, Percy. Y'know, souls to damn, deals to make."

"Right," says Persephone. A lamb.

Lucifer leaves in a whirlwind of bonfire smoke, as Persephone files another sharp remark with the others. She goes back to her papers, barely just picked up her pen - oh no, she missed Charlie's segment on the news... an apology is in order, especially when a promise was made... maybe a few people to join the hotel would suffice, even if a threat was the only thing to keep them there.

Her phone rings out as if Charlie had just read her mind. Persephone sets her blue pen down and brings the phone up to her ear. A smile tugs on her face already.

"Hey, Persephone..." Charlie's voice is sheepish and sad, it makes Persephone's heart ache - don't feel that way, you're much too young for that.

"Charlie," the girl grabs a pomegranate, breaks it open with a snap of her fingers, and sends it off. Charlie giggles on the other end of the line.

"Thanks for the pomegranate."

Persephone's smile grows mischievous. "Now, now, how are you?"

"Well-"

"Hang on," interrupts Persephone. "I'm comin' over to you."

"Oh!"

A snap, and she's right next to Charlie on the hotel steps. The light blue is so contrasting to the dark red, it takes Persephone a while to adjust. Blink, try to look, nope. Close your eyes. Oh, but that'll look weird. She settles for squinting. A blurry Charlie is biting into the pomegranate, half of her face in candlelight, the other in shadow. Her eyes look older than usual - sadder, more resigned than her usual cheery self. Still, shards of hope hang in her eyes. Persephone admires that.

"It didn't go well?" Persephone guesses. Charlie nods.

"Terrible..." her head hangs.

"It's much too hot out here," says Persephone, as she runs a hand on Charlie's back. "Let's go inside, dear."

Charlie nods and Persephone holds the heavy door open. They go inside together, Persephone already working out the best way to cheer her "chosen little sister" up. 

The couch is soft and cool to the touch when they sit. Persephone raises a hand to snap a portal into existence and uses the other to occupy Charlie's back, rubbing soft circles. Charlie's eyes widen at the sight in the small portal just about a hand mirror large. It's frantically jumping from city to city, country to country. One second a small village in Africa. The next, Toronto. Only one thing is in common: it's all views of people, whether they're going to their jobs or conversing with one another.

"Wow," Charlie gasps, a wonder-filled grin on her lips. Her eyes shine.

"How many of these people do you think are going to go to Hell?"

Charlie stops.

"It's okay," Persephone ushers. "It's okay to say. It's okay not to. We _both_ know that it's going to be a lot."

Still, Charlie just stares. "Let me ask you, how many do you think _want_ to go to Hell?"

"I- I don't know why anyone would _want_ to go to Hell," Charlie answers after a while.

"So," Persephone trails off.

"Why would anyone want to stay?"


	3. 3 - SEEING AS YOU'VE GOT NOTHING TO LOSE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory is unreliable anyways.

**3 - 𝙎𝙀𝙀𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘼𝙎 𝙔𝙊𝙐'𝙑𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙏 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀**  
 **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀** **▀**

**ᵇʳᵒʷⁿⁱᵉ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵃⁿʸᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵈˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰʳᵒⁿᵉˢ ʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ... ;⁾**

"What is this? The eleventh?"

"The twentieth."

"Oh."

The black attracts sun. [Y/N] doesn't think it's fair that the sky would be so happy on a day like this. It should be raining. It should be a whole month of dark clouds. It should be a whole month of fallen leaves.

"Who was eleven?"

"Oliver, I think."

"Right."

Frances turns her head to look at [Y/N]. Frances sees tears well in the corners, and Frances sees her blink them away. The wiry-haired girl brushes back strings of gold and copper, ties them with a white ribbon tie her mother gave her. It's too hot for these clothes. Keep your hair up, it'll cool you down.

"I miss Oliver." Thinks [Y/N] absentmindedly, bringing her tired hands up into a familiar prayer to match the rest of the attendants.

"We all do," replies Frances. A few shiny wires of gold and copper fall out of the white hair tie.

"This isn't fair."

"I know, [Y/N]."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I know, I know," a hand slips from the prayer to rub [Y/N]'s back. [Y/N] starts to sob silently. "Shhh. Sh-sh-sh-sh."

When the funeral ends, Frances grabs [Y/N]'s arm and drags her home. I have to do this every time, thinks Frances. Rinse and repeat. I can't be her babysitter for the rest of her life.

I want to stay, thinks [Y/N]. But she stays quiet.

She catches Frances' glance a few times. She looks particularly curious, in a morbid, suspicious sort of way. Frances's eyes narrow and the telltale dimple appears in the left of her forehead: she's cautious, wary. 

"You only said that he died protecting you," and before Frances can even finish her sentence, tears well in [Y/N]'s eyes. "Protecting you from _what?"_

Persephone's eyes still on the photo of Frances like a mother looks at a child. A familiar fondness, an affection only achieved by nostalgia and sentimentality. Like an old friend. In a way, it is. She has pictures of all of the ones that died, in her bedside cupboard - even if she had barely knew them, she made sure to snag a picture from their family's house as soon as she could.

She used to store them in her office, but since she was going to be staying at the hotel to assist with running it, she had moved all of her furniture there instead. A favour or two from Alastor had gotten it looking nice and clean; a really fancy hotel in the 1920s was it's likeness. Not like she wasn't going to get it looking better than that anyways, but... he just beat her to it, okay!?

This next one in the bedside cupboard is Oliver. Fluffy brown hair, darkened ears. A dorky smile upon his lips. Persephone had always thought that had he survived, they would live to be married and have kids and live by the coast. But that day never came.

This one. This one is... his name escapes the girl. But she remembers his mannerisms, and that is all that is needed for a memory to keep alive... was he the one that bit his nails? Or the one that would fall asleep smack-dab in the middle of class...? Suddenly Persephone is not so sure; maybe a name is the first sign of someone slipping through your hands like sand. She doesn't spend much time worrying about it. _Memory is unreliable anyways._

She sets the ghost back delicately, reaching to grab for Mom. Mom is clad in her usual attire. A rush of nostalgia hits her as Persephone gazes at it gently. Daintily, almost. The schmaltz smell of salt by the water and molasses cookies in the midst of baking hits her fast like a train, but tears no longer come.

They never do. Her eyes are deserted, a ghost town. They're an empty hall at night. Persephone's eyes are a school or workplace that is meant to be filled with people. Her eyes are an eerie picture of someplace that is meant to be bustling somehow empty and dark. And she has no idea if she's grateful for it, or creeped out.

A knock comes on the door, in a rhythmic tune. "Oh, _Persephone!_ Open up, my dear!"

She lays the photographs back, reciting an _"I'm coming."_ to let him know she heard him. She can hear the faint radio-static like white noise and catches his sly remark-

_"Yes_ , well, we _do_ have _all day,_ dear."

-and rolls her eyes at the laugh track that follows. "Ah, you have to stroke your ego so much you get laugh-tracks to play whenever you say something even remotely funny..." she mutters, a teasing smile tugging on her lips. A laugh track, again, plays on the other side of the door.

The door clicks open just before Persephone gets to the door, and the radio host is now strolling right past her with a microphone at his side.

"Why you sure took a while!" Says the microphone. Another goddamned LAUGH TRACK.

"Are you trying to hide something from me, dear?" Jokes Alastor, in tandem with his microphone. "Now now now. That just simply won't do."

How many times has she rolled her eyes since Alastor came to her room? Only one other time? It feels like more.

"Please," [Y/N] laughs. Polite courtesy. Inside, her chest buzzes with annoyance. "I've known you for not even a day and you already expect me to reveal my whole _life story_ to you; it's a good thing nobody's told you about social media yet."

No laugh track plays, thank _god._ Instead Alastor scoffs, "I've heard _too much_ about it, if you ask me."

"Not a fan of anything created after you died, hm? I get that." Moving to sit down on her bed, Persephone brushes a few strands of hair from her face, and looks up at Alastor. "When I first got here I was the same way... it was so different from what I had expected that I shut myself in and yearned for nothing but what was familiar. The king got so annoyed by it, well, he offered me a deal."

Alastor's eyes shine. This was much more information than he was expecting. "Oh?" 

"Yes," Persephone affirms, fondly. "I'm lucky like that."

Persephone's eyes trail over to the cupboard, and opens a portal so a photograph falls into her hands.

In the photo there is a train track and the back of [Y/N]'s head leans to the side. A few bottles of wine lay in the background. The track is settled in the middle of a green field. A train runs along the tracks like an ultimatum. It's time.

Alastor leans over to look at the picture for himself. He spots the wine and chuckles. "You know, I never would have taken you as a drinker, if not for that news segment the other night. We all know you go to bars, but... seeing you drunk, that would be _quite_ a spectacle. It would be if it was how they described it, that is."

Persephone smiles. "I do hide it quite well, don't I? That night was a Freudian slip. Accidentally mentioned who I was to some reporter and didn't realize it. It spiraled from there, he followed me the whole night and I was too drunk to notice."

The radio host laughs. "So _unprofessional,"_ and if Persephone's heart had lifted from the annoyance she had once felt, it did not last long. Quiet irritation hits her like a brick. Who is this guy to call her unprofessional, even in jest, when it had been one simple mistake...? She was named after the god-damned _queen of the deepest pits of Tartarus_ by not even _herself_ , but others - as _they_ saw fit. This guy was named "Radio Demon." _How unoriginal is that!?_ Relax, Persephone. Breathe.

If Alastor can see just how ruffled she is, he doesn't give any indication. His grin stays the same and his eyes glint with an unaltered excitement.

Persephone gives a breathy laugh, nodding. She decides it's time to change the subject. "It's hard to believe that we haven't met before this."

"I was planning to seek you out anyways, but seeing that you're here now there's no need. Are you going to stay here for long?"

"More or less. Don't worry, rest assured I'll help with the business part of all this. And the gardens; once this place is busy with demons, some will want a nice quiet atmosphere to go back to."

Persephone catches the fleeting amusement in the demon's eyes. His monocle glints, gloating, like some kind of bully on the playground. You really like the monkey bars? Ha. Loser. The swings are better. The green-thumbed girl lets her gaze trail from Alastor's when a call of her name reaches her ears through the door. She stands, going to leave.

"I-"

"No need to seize the last word, Alastor. I'll assume it was something clever."

He stills; the perpetual grin on his face growing a tiny bit wider. He snaps and he's gone. Persephone watches him leave with apathy.

"Come in," she allows, because she knows that it's Vaggie at the door.

"Hey, Persephone." Vaggie says when she opens the door. "Do you think you could do a few favours for the hotel? Unfortunately even with the help we've already gotten, it might not be enough... and I want to give Charlie the best shot at this as I can. I'm sure you feel the same."

With a gracious smile, Persephone conjures a desk and two chairs. She pulls one out for Vaggie, and sits in the other with a leg rested over the other and her signature blue pen ready in her hand to take notes. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She laughs. "Let's get down to brass tacks. Pomegranate?"

**▀** **▀** **▀**

"Well he's entertaining, that's for sure..." Persephone laughs as she looks upon the tall spider demon, a hand in-front of her mouth as if trying to hide her laughter to be polite. Charlie looks on uncertainly.

"He seems to _love_ it here... I don't understand. The human world is already so beautiful, so Heaven must be the prettiest thing to ever exist; Persephone, why did _you_ choose to come here? I don't understand _any_ of it, you could've died and gone to Heaven instead. You wanted to go anyways."

"What I _wanted_ was to fall asleep, Charlie," she lowers her voice to a whisper. "I wanted to drift off, like a feather on the air. _Not die_. Just... fall asleep. And your father made that happen."

"Yeah, but you ended up here."

"Yeah, and I ended up meeting you." Persephone retorts, playful smile stretching across her face. She reaches out a finger to boop Charlie's nose. A habit, at this point. "I ended up a tycoon with lots of power, I'd say that's worth it. I get to go back to the human world for six months, and the rest I spend here. That's better than most, Charlie."

"Dad's been breaking his promise though. You only spent four months away this year."

A wistful sigh rings in the air. "Yeah, and I never even got to visit Rome. I was _angry_ about that."

Persephone can almost hear the train whistle. An ultimatum.

The crows up on the few trees that lie there in that green field laugh at her expense; sweet, innocent, naive Percy to think that Lucifer would actually keep 100% to the deal they both agreed to.

_"You're early."_

Lucifer just grins.

Persephone blinks away the memory.

"I still don't understand why you took that when going to Hell was part of the deal. You didn't know what was going to happen," she protests. "Please, if I understand _why_ you did it maybe it'll help me help these patients."

"I did it because I was desperate," she shrugs. "That simple. I didn't know what Hell would be like; hell, it could've been eternal torture and I still would've accepted because I _didn't know_. So I'm not really too sure if I would be the best person to help with that, I'm sorry. Knowing what would happen, in comparison to a life in Heaven, well," her smile becomes knowing, and her voice wistful. "I wouldn't change a thing, Charlie."

**▀** **▀** **▀**

"Now, Sir Pentious," a headache drums on Persephone's head. "I _understand_ that you want territory. I get it, I do. But going after any of my clients has and _never will be_ okay. That means no going after Angel Dust. That means destroying any and all territory near and around the Hotel _will_ result in the breaking of our contract; we went over this in our last meeting, AND the dinner I held last year."

"But I can still go after Cherri Bomb!?"

Persephone rubs her temples, heaving a sigh. "No, Pentious. She's also the co-owner of some territory I own. Which _means_ she's _also_ a client of mine."

"But Angel Dust has angered me! Cherri too!" He whines. "I want revenge!"

"You can get it," she stares wistfully at the fancy bottle of whiskey in the cabinet at the left of her office. "If you consider breaking our contract worth it. Now, if you would _stop_ acting like an insufferable toddler we could actually get to the compensation on your end."

He ignores the insult. "Compensation?"

"Territory," Persephone's voice takes on a seducing quality; she has switched the lever to sweet-talk to try and get this done as fast as possible. "Another step to dominating Hell."

It's funny. Sometimes Persephone opens her mouth and the Devil's voice comes out. 

"...How much?"

"I had a lucky... donor, that offered to give up their quarter of West Side."

Something changes in Sir Pentious's eyes. Persephone grows a sinister grin of her own.

"West Side..." he mutters. "That's more than I've ever had..."

"Great. So it's settled?" She snaps and grows a purple orchid in one hand, and readies a pomegranate in the other.

"Yes! My deepest gratitude, lady Persephone! Oh- and just to confirm, the yearly dinner is in five months from now, am I correct!?"

"No." She sighs. "A week, Sir Pentious."

"Great! I shall be there! Goodbye!"

Persephone opens a portal for him and throws the orchid and pomegranate haphazardly after him. What a waste of a good pomegranate. He won't eat it - he never does, but it's part of her brand so she has to do it.

Maybe it's time for another night of selling out at a bar.


End file.
